Happy Birthday, Butters
by Montana-Bob
Summary: Butters has always hated the fact that he was born on the same day as a national tragedy. This year on his twelfth birthday and with some help, he finally comes to terms with it.


_A/N: Slightly AU, in that a few of the characters who died in the series appear in this story._

By 5:00 in the afternoon it was obvious that Butters was a no-show to his own birthday party. Linda Stotch was barely holding it together as she put the cake she had baked for him inside of a round clear plastic Tupperware cake box. She had drawn a surprisingly detailed frosting picture of Hello Kitty on the chocolate icing, along with _Happy 12th Birthday_ written in neon blue calligraphy.

Cartman glared angrily at the cake as she snapped the Tupperware lid on. He had wanted to reach out and grab a piece before she sealed it up, but Stan, Kyle, and Kenny had all three sworn to him that they would beat him to within an inch of his life if he did _anything_ to ruin this day for Butters. He had never seen them look more serious, and for that reason was on his best behavior.

"We'll find him, Mrs. Stotch," Stan assured her as they climbed onto their bicycles outside in the Stotch driveway while the sun dipped lower toward the mountains. The cake box was bungee-strapped to the handlebars of his bike, while Kenny had tied a large bouquet of foil helium balloons with '_Happy Birthday!_' on them to the back of his seat.

"Would you call me when you do?" Linda was on the verge of a complete breakdown, barely holding back a flood of tears. "This is always such a hard day for him…"

"And when you find him," Steven Stotch said from the front door. "Tell him he's grounded for a week—"

"_You are not grounding him on his birthday!_" Linda shrieked, rounding angrily toward her husband. She seemed about to storm over to him, but stood next to Stan, breathing furiously instead.

"We'll call you," Stan said, pushing off the street with his foot so his bicycle rolled forward. Kyle, Cartman and Kenny gratefully followed right behind him, the balloons bouncing off each other behind Kenny's head. When they'd pedaled for a few seconds Stan looked at Kyle and said, "Well, _that _was awkward!"

"I wouldn't want to be there either if his crazy psycho bitch mom was going off the deep end again," Cartman called ahead to them from twenty feet back. "She might try to kill him again or something."

"He picked a really fucked up day to be born on though," Kyle observed. "Imagine being born on nine-eleven, and having to watch all the shows and documentaries about that day. That can't be easy."

It hadn't helped that Mr. Garrison had spent the entire one-hour Social Studies class they had with him earlier today showing videos of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. Butters had folded his arms on his desk, put his head down and pretended to sleep five minutes into it.

"That's why we have to find him," Kenny said, pedaling faster to catch up to Stan and Kyle. One of the balloons whipped around on its string and bounced off the side of his head. "And make sure he has a good birthday. I think I know where he might be too. We should check Stark's Pond…he likes to go there when he's sad about something."

"That's a bad place to go today if he wants to be alone," Kyle observed. "Not when Mayor McDaniels decided to have the first annual 9/11 memorial barbecue there tonight."

"I forgot about that," Kenny said. "He told me this morning that his mom was off her meds again. That's bad enough, but along with how much he hates his birthday…"

Kenny started pedaling faster and they followed his lead with Cartman bringing up the rear, making all the turns to take them to Stark's Park. They arrived three minutes later, skidding to a stop just inside the park gates and looking around.

"There he is!" Stan said, pointing. They looked down in the direction the picnic tables and amphitheater were and spotted his familiar blond hair. "He's not alone, either."

They pedaled their bikes toward Butters. "That looks like everyone from team Craig," Kenny said as they approached. Butters looked up at them gratefully from the bench he was sharing with Craig as their bicycles pulled up a minute later.

"Hey!" Clyde said happily, sounded even more nasal than usual. "Did you guys know that today was Butters' birthday?"

Kenny looked up at the dozen shiny foil _Happy Birthday _balloons floating above his head, while Stan unstrapped the cake box from his handlebars and set it on the nearest picnic table. "No, really? Good thing you told us! Someone might want to have a party for him or something."

Token and Tweek seemed to think this was the funniest thing they'd heard in weeks, falling against each other laughing. Stan pedaled his bike a few feet in the other direction, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed the Stotch's number.

Linda Stotch answered on the first ring, her cheerful contralto voice all but singing into Stan's ear. "Hello?"

"We found Butters, Mrs. Stotch," Stan said into his phone. "We're at Stark's Pond. He's fine"

"Oh, thank you, Stanley!" She sounded completely normal now, unusually cheerful even. "Will you tell him to be home by 9:30 please? And that his dad and I wish him a happy birthday?"

"I sure will, Mrs. Stotch."

Stan said goodbye and hung up. He looked back toward his friends and saw they were about to be joined by more people; four of the seventh graders, the older kids they'd asked to protect them from Trent Boyette two years ago, were riding toward them on their bicycles, making motor cycle noises with their mouths. They skidded to a stop in front of them, making squealing brake sounds in their throats and flinging dirt at them with their back tires.

"Hey!" Their black-haired leader said angrily. "What are you sixthies doing here?"

"We're helping our friend celebrate his birthday," Craig deadpanned. Token and Tweek had stopped laughing and were eyeing the new arrivals warily. "And before you even think about starting trouble…there's a lot more of us than there are of you."

"Hey! We don't want no trouble!" The leader of the seventh graders said firmly. "We're just here for the barbecue."

"Good!" Butters said. "Then you can have a piece of my birthday cake later too."

The seventh graders seemed amenable to this, and rode off, making _vroom vroom_ sounds. Stan went to sit down on the bench next to Butters. "What're you doing here, dude? You missed the party your mom planned." he asked.

"I—I just don't feel much like celebratin', Stan," Butters replied sadly. "What, with almost 3,000 people getting killed the day I was born and all…"

"Aw, man, you have to celebrate your birthday!" Kenny said.

Surprisingly, Craig chimed in next. "Yeah, that wasn't your fault."

Kenny raised an eyebrow at that but didn't respond. Instead he said, "So let's get some of that free food that's coming later, have some of your cake, and celebrate like it's 2013, okay?"

"Free food?" Clyde and Butters both asked simultaneously, although Clyde was obviously interested in the food while Butters looked like he wanted to avoid anything that would involve large crowds.

"Yeah, man! Didn't you hear?" Tweek said laughing. "It's the worst advertised event ever!…but South Park is throwing a barbecue here, to honor all those people that were killed twelve years ago today."

Butters looked down at his shoes while rubbing his fists together nervously. He wanted to leave but was sure his friends wouldn't let him.

There were more people walking down the path toward them. Kenny looked up and recognized the goth kids,

"Look at all the noncomformists!" the tallest one said. The other Goths stopped behind him.

"Whose birthday is it?" Henrietta asked, looking at her black nail polish.

"Butters!" Kenny said cheerfully, giving him an affectionate pat on the back.

She looked up, suddenly interested, regarding Butters with heavily mascaraed eyes. "Wait…how old are you today?"

Butters looked down at the ground. "Twelve…" he almost added 'ma'am' and stopped himself at the last second.

"You were _actually born _on nine-eleven!" Henrietta asked, absolutely fascinated by this idea.

Butters sighed. "Well, yes" He looked up again. "I was."

"That has to suck." Craig said. He spotted someone from the football team and got up to go talk to him. Kyle sat down in the spot he'd vacated.

"Birthdays are all about pain," the goth kids' leader intoned. Butters turned away from them, rolling his eyes at Stan, who laughed. The Goth kids went to the farthest picnic table to smoke.

Butters quietly asked Stan a moment later, "How's my mom doing?"

Stan sighed, realizing that an honest answer was probably best. "She was pretty upset half an hour ago when you didn't show up for your party, but I just talked to her a minute ago and she seems fine again. She told me to tell you happy birthday for her, and be home by 9:30"

Butters nodded sadly. "She's cycling faster. I kinda wish I didn't have to go home later. She'll either be in the hospital, or painting the walls again by then."

Stan wasn't sure how to answer that, but the arrival of still more people distracted them all. An old beat up car was driving down the lane toward them. It parked near the end of the row of picnic tables and its engine died after a final couple backfires. Both doors opened. A large woman with blond hair and enormous breasts stepped out. Chef stepped out the driver's side door a moment later, took one look at the kids standing there staring at him and said happily, "Hello there, children!"

"Hey Chef!"

"How's it going?"

Butters replied before anyone else could. "Bad."

"Aww…why bad?"

"Well…today's my birthday, and I just want to forget about it, but I don't think anyone's going to let me."

"Well, that's no way to talk!" Chef opened the back door of his car and pulled out a large aluminum roasting pan. "Instead of making today about something _sad_, you should be celebrating your birthday!"

Butters just lowered his head again without answering. Chef and the big breasted woman began pulling large aluminum pans of already cooked hamburgers, hotdogs, fried chicken, and chili onto the picnic table. More people began gathering around them; Butters spotted Principal Victoria and Mr. Mackey walking through the park gate.

Chef set out a large pile of paper plates and plastic sporks and people began serving themselves buffet style. Soon, everyone was sitting around either at the tables or on the ground eating.

"There's my parents," Stan said, trying to hide his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I hope my dad isn't drunk…"

"Don't feel bad," Kyle replied. "I saw my parents just a minute ago; I think just about the entire town is here."

They finished their dinners, and Chef handed Butters a large knife to cut his birthday cake with. He managed to get fifteen small pieces from it, enough for anyone who really wanted a piece. Mayor McDaniels walked onto the amphitheater stage just as they were finishing their cake, holding a microphone and accompanied by Chef and her two aides. There was a burst of feedback as she tapped the microphone with her finger.

"People of South Park!" she announced a moment later. "On behalf of the town, I'd like to thank everyone for the wonderful turnout to our first annual 9-11 memorial barbecue. I'd like you all to give Chef a _big hand_ for making all this wonderful food!" A smattering of applause rippled through the crowd. Chef raised his hand and waved.

"It's also been brought to my attention," she continued a moment later. "That of all the terrible things that happened on that awful day twelve years ago, there was at least one thing that happened that we should celebrate today. Our very own Butters Stotch was born!—"

"Eep!" Butters said nervously. "Oh no…" Kenny grinned and put his arm around his shoulder.

"So please, join me in wishing him a very happy twelfth birthday!" Her eyes scanned the crowd. "Stand up Butters! Let us see you!"

Butters was trying to sink lower into his chair. Kenny nudged him, grinning. "Dude! Just stand up and wave for a second, and it'll all be over."

Chef took the microphone. "Come on, little cracka!" his deep voice rumbled through the PA system. "Don't be shy now, children!"

Kenny practically dragged Butters to his feet, and he finally stood up and waved bashfully. The applause for him was considerably louder than it had been for Chef. Butters was about to sit down again when Stan launched into the first line of 'Happy Birthday to You.' Others nearby joined in, and by the end of the song the entire crowd was singing to him. Butters was smiling when he finally sat down.

"Hey man!" Kenny thumped his back affectionately. Stan and Kyle were grinning at him on his other side. "You just had the entire town wish you happy birthday. It doesn't get any better than that!"

Mayor McDaniels had moved on to a few public service announcements, and Butters' moment in the limelight had already passed.

A few people were approaching him to shake his hand and speak with him. They were surprised to see Mr. Garrison was one of them.

"I'd forgotten today was your birthday, Butters," Mr. Garrison said. Mr. Hat looked on silently from his place on Garrison's right hand. "If I'd remembered, I would have given you a pass to go to the library today."

"Oh…that's okay, Mr. Garrison."

Pip Pirrup was next. "Happy birthday, old chap!" he said, doffing his newsboy cap.

"Thanks, Pip!"

Next was a kid it took Butters a few moments to recognize. It was Mike McCalsky, the former leader of the South Park Vampire Society. He was wearing a red polo shirt, acid washed jeans, and a pair of bright blue Converse.

"Well, hey there, Mike!" Butters said. "I guess you're not a vampire anymore?"

"I never really was a vampire," Mike replied. He smiled and added, "Per se." He shook Butters' hand. "Happy birthday."

Butters laughed. "Thanks, Mike."

Stan looked at his phone; it was 9:05. "Hey, Butters, we should probably think about getting you home. You walked here, right?"

Butters nodded. "I sure did, Stan"

"Hold it," Craig Tucker said, approaching them again with most of the South Park Cows football team following him. "Since it's your birthday and all…" Without warning, the football players swarmed around him, lifting him up onto their shoulders. Butters looked frightened for a moment, then smiled as they began carrying him above their heads up the path toward the park gates. Kenny looked up at him laughing, then ran over to his bike to retrieve the bouquet of balloons and hand them up to him. While the football team carried Butters through the gates of the Park, Kenny and his friends pedaled their bikes alongside them. They finally lowered him back to the ground once they were outside the park.

"Happy birthday, man!" Token said, thumping him on the back.

"Here dude, climb on," Kenny said, sitting forward on his bicycle seat. Butters climbed on behind him and the five of them began slowly pedaling back toward town.

"Uh, fellas," Butters said nervously a moment later, staring at an SUV parked along the side of the road twenty feet ahead. "That's my dad's car."

As if on cue, the driver's side door opened and Steven Stotch stepped out. Kenny stopped his bike and they both put their feet onto the ground, the other three stopping a moment later. Butters wasn't expecting what happened a moment later.

His father raised his hand in greeting. "Happy birthday, son," he said cheerfully, walking over to them. He was carrying a white envelope and as he handed it to Butters he looked at the group of friends and acknowledged them with a "hello, boys."

Butters looked at the envelope his dad had handed him for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what to do with it. "Th-thanks, dad," he said as he finally remembered to open it and take out the card inside. He read the front, and his eyes widened as he opened the card and removed two bills, a $100 and a $20.

"That's ten dollars for each year," Steven said, sounding positively magnanimous. "Spend it wisely now."

"Gee, _thanks_ dad!" Butters said, much more enthusiastically now, reading the rest of the card before putting it back inside the envelope.

"So, are you off to a sleepover with some of your friends?" Steven asked, almost too quickly. He gave Stan a look that seemed to be trying to send a message.

Stan noticed it. "Well, Kyle was going to spend the night. If you want to come too, Butters, there's lots of room."

"I brought Butters' backpack for school tomorrow," Steven said, addressing Stan directly. "If I could give it to you-?"

"Um, sure." He glanced around at his friends, then pedaled his bicycle over to the SUV while Butters' dad walked alongside.

Steven opened the passenger door, and as he handed the backpack to Stan, he said quietly, "I had to take his mother to the hospital a couple hours ago." At Stan's alarmed look, he quickly added. "She'll be fine. She'll be in for a few days and then come home again, good as new." He lowered his eyes, looking uncomfortable. "We both thought it would be better if Butters didn't have to know about that tonight."

Stan nodded, feeling something he'd never felt for this man before: A small bit of respect. "We'll make sure he has a good time tonight. Oh, and I hope Mrs. Stotch is okay."

"Thank you Stanley." The other four were approaching them, three on bicycles and Butters walking, still holding onto the balloons. "Happy birthday, Butters!" Steven said, walking over to them. "Your mother wanted to come along too, but she was tired and went to bed. But she told me to tell you happy birthday, too."

Butters had a knowing look in his eyes. "Thanks again dad." He went over and hugged his father, who after an awkward moment hugged him back. The five of them watched Steven climb into the SUV and drive away.

"So, who else is coming?" Stan asked, looking around.

"You know I am!" Kenny replied immediately. "This party's just getting started."

Cartman looked down uncomfortably, remembering his promise to Stan, Kyle, and Kenny. He'd held back on ripping on Butters for as long as he possibly could, and going to their sleepover would just be inviting trouble. "I'm not sleeping over with you fags. So happy birthday Butters; and screw you guys…I'm going home."

The four watched him pedal away. As they were heading toward Stan's house, Butters once again sharing a seat with Kenny, he asked: "My dad had to take my mom to the hospital tonight, didn't he Stan?"

Stan slowed to a stop, the others gathering alongside him. He knew Butters would learn the truth eventually anyway. "Yeah, Butters, he did. He didn't want to tell you because he didn't want to ruin your birthday…"

"Oh, that's okay Stan," Butters replied. "She'll be okay in a few days. And…I learned something today. I learned that there's worse things than being born on a day when something awful happened. I couldn't help that…I was just a baby!"

Kenny laughed. "I've been telling you that for years, dude."

**~ 0 ~**

Later, when the four of them were in Stan's room with the lights off, Stan sat up to look at the floor on Kyle's side of the bed, where Butters was curled up inside a sleeping bag, apparently deeply asleep.

"Hey, guys," he said quietly. "Imagine if Butters had been our fourth friend all along instead of Cartman, how different our lives might have been."

"No doubt!" Kenny replied from his spot on the floor next to Stan. He sat up and rested his arms on the bed. "We could have avoided that whole NAMBLA incident for one thing."

Stan laughed. "Yeah, there was that! Or the time his trapper keeper came alive and tried to destroy the town…"

Kenny could recall over a dozen incidents when he wouldn't have died if Butters had been their fourth friend in place of Cartman. He wished he had some way to acknowledge them out loud. Kyle mentioned Cartman's attempt at his 'final solution' and they had another quiet laugh at that memory.

Butters was only pretending to sleep, hiding his smile against the pillow Stan had loaned him. Thinking back on today, even though having that much attention on him had been embarrassing and more than a little frightening at the time, the last thought he had before he drifted off to sleep for real was _this was the best day I've ever had._

THE END


End file.
